


'Tis But a Scratch

by Rina (rinadoll)



Series: Comfortween 2020 [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Comfortween, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing It Better, M/M, Mild Blood, Service Top Patrick Brewer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26826709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinadoll/pseuds/Rina
Summary: David falls and can only think of his beloved pants; Patrick's priorities look different.Day 5 Comfortween prompt: ‘Tis But a ScratchDealing with bleeding, blood loss, cleaning blood from someone, drinking blood.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Comfortween 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956790
Comments: 15
Kudos: 134
Collections: Comfortween 2020





	'Tis But a Scratch

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt List: https://hurtcomfortex.dreamwidth.org/22946.html // Fills: https://hurtcomfortex.dreamwidth.org/23354.html

Fucking October and it was snowing. 

David glared at the grey skies and snow covered sidewalk, which had just yesterday been a leaf covered sidewalk. As was good and proper and correct for this early in October. 

He’d already gotten a late start, and Patrick had left before him to open the store. He tried to hurry, but the leaves were still under the snow and it was slippery under his Rick Owens. 

Glide, glide, rebalance, fucking snow. He was only two blocks away now. Two blocks from warmth and dryness and floor meant to be gripped.

His foot hit a particularly slippery patch and his arms started windmilling wildly for balance. Before he realized what was happening, he landed on his knees with a thud, palms following a moment later as he sprawled forward. He blinked rapidly, trying to process exactly how he’d ended up on the sidewalk.

“Full of grace there, Dave,” Roland called as he drove by, too fast to hear David’s scathing reply. 

He slowly moved his hands and fuck, they were red and scraped up. He gingerly stood back up, careful not to touch his clothes, but his knees protested sharply. “Fuck!” he said loudly. “Fuck!” His knees inside the distressed jeans were also scraped and bloody. He could see the blood welling up through an artful hole.

He tried to bend his knees backwards to avoid the material touching his skin or, ugh, blood, and made his way too slowly towards the store. This blood could not have a chance to set. Once he stepped inside, he ignored Patrick’s greeting and fled awkwardly for the bathroom. 

He took off his shoes, slipped the jeans off as carefully as he could and turned them inside out. Blood dotted the fabric and collected in the edges of a few holes and the unraveled threads from a hole he didn’t want to believe hadn’t been there when he got dressed. 

He turned the water as cold as it would go and started soaking them. Hopefully he’d gotten here fast enough. 

Patrick knocked on the door. “David? Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, I’m trying to save my jeans,” he called back. “Grab me a laundry bar, some peroxide, and some salt. Oh, and aspirin. Thanks!” The water should be enough for most of them, but better to have options at the ready.

There was a pause. “All right,” Patrick said, sounding confused.

David patted gently at the spots, trying to mentally urge Patrick to move faster. There better not be a customer blocking him. 

Patrick knocked. “Open up, David, I’ve got everything you asked for.”

David flicked the lock and Patrick walked in. “Uh, wow,” he said, taking in David in his sweater, socks, and boxer-briefs, bent over the sink.

“I know, I know,” David said, plucking the laundry bar from Patrick’s pile. “Can we damage this out?” he asked, turning to catch Patrick’s eye. “Please?”

But Patrick didn’t catch his eye. “You’re bleeding!” he exclaimed, kneeling down in front of David and lightly touching his knee.

“Ow!” David said, flinching. “Yes, thank you, I know, that’s what’s all over my jeans.” He started to open the laundry bar package and hissed as he closed his scraped palms.

“David, forget the jeans,” Patrick said, standing back up and taking his hand. David tugged it back. “You have to get yourself cleaned up.”

“I will, once the stain is out,” David said, dropping the wrap in the bin. 

“You’re more important than the jeans, David,” Patrick said and David rolled his eyes with a small smile.

“You’re very good for my ego, and I appreciate that, but these are my second favorite Neil Barretts and I don’t want them ruined,” David said, lightly dabbing the soap over the biggest of the stains. He tried to hold it so the soap didn’t sting his hands. “Hey!” he protested as Patrick took the bar away.

“Sit down, David,” he said firmly, pointing at the closed toilet.

“Just let me finish,” David said, reaching for the bar, but Patrick held it back. 

“I will let you finish when you’re not dripping blood all over the store’s floor,” he said. “Sit.”

“I’m not dripping blood,” David said, then realized that there was a little on the floor. He couldn’t see any on his socks, so it must have come from his hands. “Fine.” He sat. 

“Thank you.” Patrick wet paper towels and dabbed David’s knees with them. “Hold these,” he instructed. “And don’t move.” 

David cast a longing look at his jeans, which were hopefully soaking up the soap and water, but obeyed.

Patrick reappeared a minute later with his first aid bag and flannel cloths. “I closed shop for a break,” he reported, as he washed his hands. “What happened, anyway?”

“Proof that seasons should never mix,” David said. “Slipped and fell, right in front of Roland, of all people. I’ll be hearing about this again, I am confident.” 

Patrick clicked his tongue sympathetically as he knelt down, swapped a paper towel for a rag and pressed it to David’s knee, gently cleaning the wounds. David hissed. 

“Sorry, David,” Patrick said, “I think there’s a little bit of gravel in there.” He cleaned off a pair of tweezers with the hydrogen peroxide and dug in just a little bit. 

David bit his lip to bite back his groan, but Patrick was quick. 

“Got it,” he said, holding it up before letting it go over the bin. He blew on David’s knee and cleaned it again. 

David watched, thoughtfully and a little bemused, as Patrick spread Neosporin, placed two band-aids down in quick succession, and kissed his knee.

“One down, three to go,” he said, smiling up at David.

The second knee was free of gravel, and only required one band-aid, but still got the kiss. “I don’t think anyone has ever done this for me before,” he said, as Patrick turned his attention to David’s left palm. 

“Bandaged you up? Kissed it better?” Patrick asked, dabbing at the wound. He must have decided it was clean because out came the Neosporin.

“All of the above,” David said. “In fairness, I—ow—didn’t do much that required bandaging up. Gotta keep the pageant face pristine, you know.”

“I don’t know,” Patrick said, blowing on his hand before applying band-aids. “Glad to give you this experience, though. Rite of childhood, thirty-some years late.”

“Okay, first of all, it’s practically twenty something,” David immediately protested. “And really, would we call this a necessary experience?”

“Everyone should have someone who will kiss it better,” Patrick said, meeting his gaze and holding it as he pressed a long kiss to his bandaged palm. 

“I see,” David said, biting back a smile. 

Patrick nodded. “Vital, really.” He took David’s right hand and winced. “This one looks pretty torn up. I think I already see more gravel in there.”

David sighed. “Be gentle.”

“I’ll try,” Patrick said, and clearly did his best. Still hurt like a bitch, though, and David grit his teeth as three small rocks were extracted. 

“You’re being very brave,” Patrick said, squeezing his fingers as he sponged the scrapes. He only sounded partially sarcastic, which David appreciated. He added the Neosporin, band-aids, and the final kiss. “And done. You survived.”

“My hero,” David said, giving him a smile. “Now let’s see if my jeans survived.” He stood up and groaned. “Ugh, knees.”

“Yeah, they’ll sting for a bit, sorry,” Patrick said. “Careful,” he added, spraying the floor with their cleaner and wiping up the blood before standing back up.

“Thank you,” David said, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s shoulders and giving him a kiss. 

“Of course. I’ll always be here to kiss it better,” Patrick promised, squeezing David’s waist.

“I love that about you,” David said. He smiled winsomely. “Does that, however, extend to also always running home to get me new pants after kissing it better?”

“It can,” Patrick said, rolling his eyes and stepping out of their embrace. “Text me a photo of what you want.”

“Great, yes, thank you. And could it also extend to picking up some pancakes and coffee because I’ve had a traumatic morning?” David asked, playing with Patrick’s sleeve and trying to look traumatized. It wasn’t hard when bending his hand made his palm feel like it was on fire. Fuck.

Patrick sighed. “I feel like we’re stretching the boundaries of this statement, but today, yes. Fine. I’ll stop at the café, too.” He opened the door. 

“You’re the best and I love you madly,” David called after him.

He turned back to his jeans, smiling. The day wasn’t a total loss, at least.


End file.
